


expo line

by miamihorror



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamihorror/pseuds/miamihorror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s not much to him when it comes down to it; his life has been one extended train ride that leads to the same lackluster end no matter which line he takes, but Akaashi foresees a new path to take with Bokuto as his destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	expo line

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing bokuaka! inspired by this one piece of fanart i saw on twitter that i can't seem to find anymore.enjoy!

The first signs of the train’s arrival at the station are the clickity-clack of the cars against the tracks, growing louder with each passing second, and the low but deafening sound coming from the rush of air as it screeches to a stop. The doors part with a hiss and passengers vacate the train, scurrying each and every way, while an announcement plays overhead stating the train’s final stop.

Akaashi lifts his head from his novel to watch a stream of travelers search for vacant seats, his attention briefly captured by the cloud of conversation floating above the crowd, and returns to the print on the pages when the doors come together, a string of notes sounding from the intercom to inform of the train’s departure. The train chugs along under the early evening sky, the setting sun painting the passengers inside a light orange, and darkness envelops them temporarily as it passes under tunnels and skyscrapers, elongated shadows flashing like lightning.

Words start to swim across the pages from the dim lighting in the car and the absence of his glasses (the train was not his first choice of location to complete the reading material assigned by his classic lit professor), but Akaashi absorbs the content within the small font while simultaneously keeping his balance, one arm outstretched to grab onto the handlebars overhead. He squints three pages worth of paragraphs into focus when a bell sounds from the speakers, informing passengers of the train’s approach to the next stop, and he steadies himself for the crowd on the platform awaiting entrance onto the train. Unwillingly shuffling further down in response to the push of bodies, Akaashi finds himself at the back of the now compact car, caged by other passengers, and the train pulls away from the station with a creak.

Heat is heavy in the air from the proximity of bodies and the space decreases between passengers with each shudder of the car, but Akaashi ignores the causes of perspiration even when the lights come on with a flicker, adding to the sweat sliding from his neck down to his chest. He gazes out the window at the glowing city, blurring by in a mix of white and yellow, and proposes the time to be somewhere past seven in the evening.

Akaashi dedicates the duration of the train ride to his work, set on completing four chapters of the novel before his terminal comes within sight, regularly pausing to scribble down notes and observations on neon-coloured stick-it notes, but his task proves to be difficult under the weight of eyes upon him. He thinks nothing of it, choosing to continue on with his assignment, but the feeling grows heavier as the train passes each station.

The feeling isn’t foreign to Akaashi in any way. He’s conscious of the stares and glances thrown his way, whether in admiration, jealously, or even desire, that act like a second shadow – inconspicuous but always trailing behind closely. In spite of this, the weight of those eyes provide a sensation opposite to what Akaashi is accustomed to, instead piquing his interest as to who could have such an effect on him.

This sensation is new, foreign and unexplored, and Akaashi weighs the few options he has to handle the situation. One is to continue his current action of disregarding the feeling and finish his quota of pages. Another is to face the culprit directly and confront them with questions as to what their intentions are. Both are common procedures to him, the ones he’s been using upon entering college, but the option he considers greatly is to locate the source of the gaze that warms him to the bones and experience the usually avoided consequences that would result.

He glances up from the passage in which the protagonist needs to make a life-changing decision that would save one’s life but endanger their family’s to unexpectedly meet the twinkling eyes of the man in front of him, his gaze solid and firm on his face, and Akaashi blinks at the immediate grin that appears easy and effortless across his lips.

His hair is what captures Akaashi’s attention first, defying gravity with the way it was slicked upwards but appeared to be as soft as feathers. The second is his aura, the innocence and naivety of a child within the body of a man, in which Akaashi catches himself at ease despite facing a complete stranger. The most distinct factor that Akaashi notes is the curiosity present in his eyes, actual genuine curiousity, rare among the kind that he was constantly surrounded by. Those eyes hold wonder towards what Akaashi found to be bland and gray but were still warm and inviting, an unknown force pulling him towards such sincerity.

He shifts his concentration back to the book the following moment, avoiding those eyes that sparkled his way with something new, something he couldn’t decipher, but also sparked a sense of nostalgia within his chest. None of the words stick to his brain when he attempts to read the words on the pages, his attention drifting away to the man trying to discreetly stare at him from his peripheral. (The key word is trying.)

“Have we met before?” he sighs, snapping his book shut in his hand to look back up at the man, who whips his head to face him at an astonishing speed, and those eyes are shining again under the fluorescent lights, but he only blinks at the reappearance of the easy-going grin on his features.

“That’s what I’d like to say,” the man reaches up to hold onto the bar overhead as he rests his head on his arm, the smile peeking shyly from behind the fabric of his sweater. “But nah, we haven’t. I just thought you looked really cute while you were reading.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, tucking his book away into his bag as the lights flicker with each shake of the train car. So much for the quota of pages to be read. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! And like, you’ve got this serious look on your face that kinda scares people off, but it makes others interested in what you’re thinking, you know what I mean?” he inquires, leaning forward in excitement, and Akaashi clutches at the strap of his bag, humming in response and wonder at how such observations could hold so much authenticity at first encounter.

“Then I suppose you’re one of those others that are ‘interested in what I think’,” he replies, tone dry, and the man nods vigourously, the smile still evident on his face as Akaashi folds his hands in front of him, his thumbs twiddling out a reply.

“I’m thinking I want the train to get to the very last station, since it’s my stop.”

The man lets out a huff of air, pursing his lips and waving his free hand in the air as if he was lifting the sarcastic comment from their conversation out the window. “Not like that!” he exclaims. “You look like the kinda person to always have something on their mind.”

“You’re thinking too much,” Akaashi responds, picking at the hangnail on his cuticle, and mentally congratulates himself from the use of irony in the comment. “Anyone ever told you that?”

“Lots of people do, actually,” he tilts his head thoughtfully, Akaashi raising an eyebrow at the absence of the mocking retort that he was anticipating. “They’re always saying, ‘Bokuto, don’t over think it!’ or ‘Don’t read into it too much, Bokuto!’ like I’ll sprain my brain or something.”

“Well, it certainly is an issue.”

“Wait, so you’re saying you _can_ sprain your brain then?!”

A small smile surfaces onto Akaashi’s lips as Bokuto (or what he assumes is his name is after the whole ordeal with thinking too much into things) shifts the conversation to retell his past ‘adventures’ with his dorm roommates, all deemed to be stupid and very unsafe by Akaashi himself, as time passes by in the form of tiny white dots littered across the night sky, flashing in the distance as the train slowly empties itself of its passengers at each stop. The crisp evening air circulates throughout the car at the presence of space, but Akaashi finds himself go breathless with each passing minute that Bokuto is within his sight.

He feels himself fall into Bokuto’s rhythm only after a few minutes of meeting him, the atmosphere turning light with each inhale Bokuto takes to steady himself after a hearty laugh, with each roll of the eyes Akaashi gives away at another one of Bokuto’s horrible puns, and with each unfiltered story from Bokuto’s past that he reveals with a stranger like himself. His presence is more familiar that he lets on, Akaashi thinks, his whole body speaking higher tones to him that his voice does. It really was like they had met somewhere else before, maybe at another place at another time, in some other dimension unknown to man, made to meet right there at that exact moment once more.

“Oh, I’m Bokuto, by the way,” he greets, holding out his free hand to Akaashi after the epic tale of he and his friend Kuroo’s parkour adventures that had landed them two weeks at the hospital. “It’s really cool to meet you and all that jazz.”

“You said your name at least two times before actually introducing yourself,” Akaashi points out, earning him a pout from Bokuto, and he rolls his eyes as he reaches for his open palm after having him gesture at it with his eyes, an impatient whine low in his throat but audible nonetheless. “Akaashi. I suppose it’s nice to meet you as well.”

The train pulls up to the final station when Akaashi releases his hand after two firm shakes, Bokuto smiling down at him with the joy of winning three gold medals at the Olympics, and it jerks to a stop, throwing him forward without warning. A voice floats from the speakers to apologize at the slow reaction of the brakes, but static clogs Akaashi’s ears as he registers the arm around his waist supporting him, his vice grip on Bokuto’s shoulders, and the breath of air on the crown of his head when Bokuto sighs in relief.

“You okay?” he asks as he peers into Akaashi’s face, his eyebrows knotting in concern. “Good thing I caught you in time, or else you would’ve kissed the floor there.”

Nodding hastily, Akaashi releases his hold on Bokuto’s shoulders and murmurs a quick thanks, brushing off Bokuto’s grin with a scoff as he slides past him to exit the car, the cold air greeting his too-warm face. The familiar flight of stairs greets him in the distance as he hurriedly makes his way across the station when a hand catches him around the wrist, the hold firm and unyielding. Looking over his shoulder, he finds Bokuto panting like he just completed a triathlon, his hair bent in new angles from being mussed by the wind.

Akaashi turns to face him fully and raises an eyebrow at the sight of Bokuto fanning himself with his free hand. “Do you need something?”

“You, actually,” Bokuto wheezes out, and Akaashi feels his fingers twitch at the words, swallowing down the anticipation rising in his throat. Clouds of air form as Bokuto’s breathing slows in contrast to his accelerating heart and his eyes follow on the teeth that catch on his lip before speaking.

“I kinda need you to tell me how to get home because I missed my stop.”

Announcements and chatter surround them as Akaashi narrows his eyes at the exclamation, any expectation he had sinking to the bottom of his stomach as Bokuto releases his wrist. Expectations are only pleasant when they’re met; otherwise they’re just another thing to add Akaashi’s list of inconveniences. “How do you exactly miss your stop?” he manages, fighting the urge to bolt up the stairs, run back home to his spacious apartment and sleep the memory of the whole train ride off. “You don’t just suddenly forget that you have to get off the train at a certain point.”

“I was kind of focused on _you_ , okay?” Bokuto scratches the back of his neck, his eyes wandering in every direction besides Akaashi’s. “I lost track of which station I was at every time you tried not to smile or said no to every suggestion I had for parkour and…” he trails off, his eyes widening as he looks up at Akaashi, who tilts his head at him with equal parts concern and confusion. “Man, I think I like you, Akaashi.”

Rolling his eyes as cover up for his trembling hands, Akaashi shoves them quickly into the pockets of his sweater and chews on the inside of his cheek meekly. No one could create such a bond in the small amount of time, only taking his actions to be from the spur of the moment, but Akaashi can’t deny the strong connection between him and Bokuto in that packed train. Those sparkling eyes return at full force, waiting to unravel every thread to Akaashi’s fabricated life. There’s not much to him when it comes down to it; his life has been one extended train ride that leads to the same lackluster end no matter which line he takes, but Akaashi foresees a new path to take with Bokuto as his destination.

“You clearly need to go home if you’re saying such things,” he sighs, motioning for him to come closer to instruct him with directions as to which train to take at which platform in order to get him home. Bokuto nods at each statement with uncertainty clear on his face but Akaashi waves him off in the vague direction of the trains and turns away to climb up the steps. “Good night, Bokuto-san.”

His vision blurs as a hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around, leaving him in a momentary state of vulnerability, the slight brush of lips against his cheek shorter than a second but lasting an eternity. He blinks the satisfied smirk on Bokuto’s face into focus when he pulls away, the imprint of his lips ablaze on Akaashi’s cold cheek, and salutes him with two fingers as he starts towards the terminals with a light jog.

“Thanks for everything! Let’s meet up some other time or something!” he calls back one last time, another face-splitting grin on his features, and Akaashi watches his back gradually disappear into the crowd.

Atop the flight of stairs, Akaashi brings up a hand to the spot where he and Bokuto connected for a split moment, his fingertips tracing the memory of his chapped lips upon his cheek as his heart swells with exhilaration. The clack of the cars against the tracks accompanies him home, a rush of air from the tunnel tousling his hair as the train overtakes him, the low but deafening sound that follows swallowing his confession as he utters it into the wind, in hopes that they too, like him, will reach their new haven.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
